A Bond Between Brothers
by MoonPearlz
Summary: Another World War has broke out and England is shot. Not by an ordinary bullet, but a bullet that can kill a nation. What will America do now that his big brother is gone? Sad one-shot, and no slash...


**A Bond Between Brothers...**

Arthur staggered to the trenches. He had so many injuries he couldn't even count, but still he fought on. For his country. For the alliance.

One of the American soldiers saw him arrive and quickly rushed up to assist him, but Arthur didn't accept it and managed a croaky : "I'm fine."

He scrabbled over to the British part of the trenches where his men were. Well, what was left of them. It was horrible.  
Arthur had never liked battle. In fact he despised it. Wars, killing, deaths of fathers and sons and brothers. And if one of the countries were killed, that country would fall apart. So obviously, everyone was on high alert to protect them.  
Arthur however didn't like the attention, and didn't like looking weak either. Though in this situation he couldn't care less, as the throbbing of his wounds took over anything he was thinking about.

"Britain!" He heard America's voice behind him. Why was he here!?

Arthur turned around to see Alfred standing with a lot of gashes and bruises but nothing fatal.

Arthur tried to clear his throat. "What!?"

"You okay?" Alfred asked, being unusually formal.

"Why wouldn't I be. I'm fine... Thanks." Arthur said, trying to move on.

Though they were both thrown back as a bomb went off fairly near the trenches. They both fell face first into the dirt, winding them both.  
Arthur looked over at Alfred who wasn't making an effort of getting up.  
Coward. Arthur thought. He probably can't get up because all the hamburgers he eats are finally weighing him down.

Arthur clambered up to his feet and shakily tried to move on, but his knees buckled and he fell limply to the ground.  
He growled in frustration. His legs must have been shocked by the blow.  
He decided to crawl his way over to America who was groaning his head off.

When Arthur made it to Alfred, Alfred's eyelids were flickering.

"Alfred?" Arthur said wearily, memories of when America was his little brother were rushing back to him.

Alfred's eyes shot open only to droop again.

"Yeah, what's up dude?" He said, basically whispering. He sat up slowly rubbing the back of his head.  
Arthur couldn't see what Alfred looked so shocked at but sighed when Alfred showed him blood in his hand.

"It's just a battewound you idiot!" Arthur said, helping Alfred to his feet, as well as getting up himself.

"America sir!" They heard a voice say from behind them.  
Another American solider was standing there, with his back straight and he was saluting.

"There has been a request to see you, sir."

"Ok, ok I'm comin'." Alfred managed and struggled out of Arthur's grasp before he made his way over to the solider who immediately supported him.

* * *

Arthur had been in many fights. In many wars.  
He came close to death almost every time. He wasn't sure about now.

After the blow at the trenches he had made his way back up to the battle field to help his men. He met Francis and the rest of the Allies with all of their men, but by now the battle feild was scattered full of the allies, most of the solider's were friends. That was the hard thing.

Arthur knew a couple of his men that had become great friends with some American troops. As well as the other troops from the other countries, if they could speak English of course.

Arthur hated to see one of America's men get shot in the abdomen, while one of his great friends (who was British) had been by his side the whole time.  
And how the British solider had openly weeped when Arthur had rushed over to help his American friend. But it was too late, he was dead.

And though Arthur wanted to stop thinking about these things as he had seen thousands before, it was in truth all he could think about.

But Arthur had been stupid to help the men, because the next thing he felt was a bullet.  
A German had got into their side of the battlefield and held a gun up shakily pointing at Arthur.

Arthur stood for a moment, trying to fully embrace the fact someone had just shot him in the chest.  
He couldn't speak. He couldn't move. He couldn't cry. He just fell.

Then the pain came coursing through him. It was so overwhelming, Arthur felt paralysed.  
The British solider he was helping immediately shot the German, then ran over to Arthur.

"Sir! Sir!" He said helplessly. "I'll go get help, please don't close your eyes."

The solider disappeared for a minute then came back with France and America. Brilliant.

"Dude!" Alfred exclaimed rushing over to Arthur. France slowly emerged by his side. They both had a look Arthur had never seen before on them.  
Sadness. They were sad for him.  
Arthur tried to stop his eyes from drooping because he knew what was going to happen, but didn't want to accept his fate.  
He coughed and felt a warm liquid trickle down his cheek. Blood.

No! This can't happen to him! Not today! Not ever! What would happen to his country!?

He heard Alfred and Francis shouting orders for people to come and help them take Arthur to safety but Arthur knew there was no point.

"Britain! Don't die... Please!" Alfred exclaimed, clinging onto Arthur's arm. They had a history of course, and they had once been brothers who loved each other. Alfred knew they still had those feelings, they were brothers and nothing could change that.

Arthur coughed again and struggled to say:  
"I think... We all know... That I'm already gone."

"No but your not! Don't please! you can't do this!"

He felt a pat on his leg. It was France.  
"Don't give up yet, Britain. People are coming to help you."

"Thank you... but... it's not needed... by the way, Francis... I'm sorry." Arthur groaned and winced. Obviously he was going to have to apologise for everything he'd done, though he couldn't keep his eyes open for very much longer.

"For what?" Francis asked, swallowing.

"For, well... The fighting I suppose... We're all... Brothers at... Heart..." Arthur whispered as he could no longer talk normally. His wound was draining the life out if him. He could feel it.

His heart sank further when he saw a tear running down Alfred's cheek.  
Arthur managed a weak smile.

"America... your my little brother, you just..." He trailed off. They all sat in silence for a minute, listening to the sounds of battle.

Alfred squeezed his arm tighter. "Britain!"

Arthur's eyes flickered shut. He let out one last breath. The odd thing was he finally felt at peace. Death had granted him that.  
Then he was gone. Arthur was dead.

"Britain! No!" Alfred buried his face into Arthur's arm. Francis hung his head.  
Of course Francis had wished many things on Arthur but never anything like death. They had always fought but now all he felt for the man was respect. And of course Britain had been right, they were all brothers at heart, so why fight? Why war against each other? Why kill for justice?

It all seemed to move in slow motion for Alfred. The men who had come to help had arrived and immediately picked up Arthur. They ran away calling for Francis to help them take him to the trenches.  
Francis hesitated but went, leaving Alfred staring at the spot where Arthur had once been.

It was now he remembered when he was just a child. Arthur had looked after and cared for him like no other brother could, until Alfred wanted independence which hit Arthur hard. He still hadn't grasped on the fact that his big brother had died, right in front of his eyes.  
He sat weeping, listening to the sounds of war. The screams, the crying, the dying. Everything seemed so normal- for battle.  
But his heart had a hole in it. It was now that he felt what other people felt, and now he sought revenge. For him and all of the people that had lost their brother's fighting.  
Wether they were brothers in blood or brothers in bond, he would avenge every single death that had taken place. He was sure he would, any hero would.

He had been told by a British solider that Arthur was shot while trying to help one of Alfred's own men.  
He immediately clenched his fists, threw his head back and screamed with rage.  
He got up to his feet, ignoring his many wounds and ran.  
He ran to the trenches and attempted to climb in.  
He staggered to Britain's part of camp, while all of the solider's stared at him sympathetically.

When he reached the camp he ran into the main tent where he was surprised to see all of his Allies, staring at Arthur's lifeless body in dismay.  
Of course a doctor was trying to revive Arthur. That gave Alfred a tiny slither of hope and he stood tensely waiting for a good answer.

The doctor felt for pulse on Arthur'a neck, then his wrist. Then he tried with a stethoscope.  
He looked around at all of the Allies faces and shook his head. No pulse.

They all hung their heads at once, paying their respects. France was sitting on a chair and had his head in one hand.  
Alfred fell to his knees and stared at the ground.  
The Allies just noticed Alfred and all walked out, patting Alfred's shoulder in respect.

***

"Germany, sir!" One of Germany's solider's made their way into the tent where Germany, sat, getting a gash on his arm stitched up.

"Yes?"

"Britain is dead. Shot by one of our own, who was then shot."

Germany froze, so did the doctor.

"Britain? Is dead?" Germany hesitated in disbelief.

"Yes, sir."

"Who... Who shot him?"

The solider shifted uneasily, his eyes glistening. Germany couldn't tell if there were tears going down his cheeks or that it was from the rain outside.

"... It was my brother, sir. My brother killed Britain."

Germany let out a sigh, both of relief and sadness. Britain was one of the strongest Allies- along with America. It would be good to have less people to fight.  
But still he did not smile. He was a respectful man and certainly didn't relish in death, especially not in a fellow country. But it was still a relief.

"Tell the troops to stop fighting. We'll call the war off for a day. This is a big change, for everyone. Let's keep respectful, ok?"

The solider nodded and made his way out.  
Germany rubbed his forehead with his good hand and let out a long sigh.

* * *

A German troop had emerged from the top of the trenches. Alfred heard him come and turned round immediately.  
Alfred had no weapons on him, just blood and bruises. He clenched his fists until his knuckles were white and stared at the troop venomously.

The troop shook his head and dropped his gun to the ground.

"I am not here to fight." He said through a heavy accent.

Alfred squinted, looking at him through his bashed glasses.  
"Then why the hell are you here? I could just kill you on the spot." He spat. His brother had just died because of one of them. He would never forgive them.

"Germany has requested that we hold off the fighting for a day."

"Why would he say that!?" Alfred exclaimed. A light shower of rain had started, dampening his blondish hair.

"A nation has died. We are paying respect." The German said, almost emotionlessly.

Alfred clenched his fists tighter in anger. A solider came up behind him. Alfred looked beside him to see a Chinese solider, asking with his eyes if he needed to shoot this German.  
Alfred hesitated, looking deep into the German's emotionless eyes.

"Lower your gun, solider." Alfred said to the Chinese solider, still looking at the German. "There will be no more fighting for today."

The German nodded his thanks. The solider left America and as the German turned around, Alfred said:

"Did you come over here knowing I might have killed you?"

"Yes." The solider said, turning back around picking his gun up from the floor.

"Why?"

"I do what my nation tells me to. I am loyal, WE are loyal."

The American scoffed. "Did you know the German that got shot after he killed..." Alfred trailed off, barely wanting to say his name.

"I did, sir. He was my brother." The German said, with a once again emotionless expression.

Alfred nodded. "I thought so, otherwise you'd not have been told to deliver this message..." He stood for a moment listening to the sounds of battle quietening- ever so slightly. "I lost a brother too. Britain was my big brother. He raised me, taught me everything I needed to know. He was great, when I think about it. But I never told him that."

The German solider looked down at his muddy boots. "I understand."

"But who am I kidding, it's not as if you want to hear me talk to you so casually, like we aren't enemies."

"I don't mind it, sir. I am sorry that my brother shot yours." The solider shifted uneasily.

There was a heavy silence. Alfred had never talked with an enemy like this, EVER. It was then that he realised, behind all that emotionless behaviour, he was a good man. Not what he had imagined the enemies to be like.

"Uh... I'm sorry that one of my own shot your brother, as well." Alfred said, turning to leave though he was the one who was stopped this time.

"Thank you, sir, for sparing my life. I did not expect that of you." The German solider said, half turning.

Alfred nodded and turned back around, feeling tears making his way into his eyes. Francis appeared in front of him with a gun raised, about to shoot the German solider.

"No!" Alfred shouted. Francis looked at him like he was crazy.  
"The Germans have said they won't fight today 'cause of... I think you know."

Francis hesitated but dropped his arm to his side. Alfred looked back at the solider who was visibly shaking with fear now.  
He nodded and the solider walked away. With pride, Alfred noticed. Which was strong of him, if his brother had just died. But so had Alfred's and he made no sign of pride, just depression.

* * *  
Alfred had been in his tent for quite a while now. He had sat on his so-called bed, and held one of the toy solider's Britain had created for him many years ago. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched it in his hands.  
Then he overheard France talking outside his tent.

"So, you are going to ask him then?" France said.

"About what?" The other country-Russia- had replied.

"Well what if he doesn't fight tomorrow. We NEED him and his army. They are strong and we need them now that we've... Lost Britain." France said.

"Mm... Yes your right. Well, Britain was America's brother, right?" Russia asked.

"Well... Yes, I guess you could say that." France answered slowly.

"Well, you'll have to try and persuade him." Russia said.

"What? But why can't y-"

"Goodbye France!" Russia's boots plodded away.

"Russia!" France shouted but he knew it was no use.

Of course, a few minutes later France had arrived in America's tent.  
"I'm terribly sorry to interrupt, America but-" he started.

"Yeah, I'll be fighting tomorrow." America rose slowly from his bed.  
France blinked in surprise.

"How did you- You will?"

"Of course, dude! Why wouldn't I?" America said, testing him. France looks down.

"Well..." France pointed at the toy solider in America's hand and kept his gaze to the ground.

America clutched it tighter. "Yeah... Well, I'm fighting tomorrow, okay?" America kept his gaze on Francis, glaring almost. "Oh and I'm fine, thanks for asking." He spat sarcastically.

France hesitated. "Are you sure your alright?" He asked, as he had never seen America act so sarcastic or grown up. Just like... Britain.

"I'm good, bye France!" America waved a dismissive hand at Francis who sighed and slowly walked out.

America lay down in his bed. Sighing shakily he tried to fall asleep to the sound's of- oh, the war had been called off. It was silent. It was an eerie one though. He didn't like being in the silence alone.

"Why did you leave me all alone, big bro?" America said quietly to himself as he drifted in to a dreamless sleep.

* * *

**Helllooooo I hope you like this depressing oneshot! . I actually wrote this in England's perspective as well, when England is like a ghost (sort of :/) I might upload it if you guys want me to... Please review! Ok byeeee~~~ **


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